


sick

by whumperooni



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Cuckolding, F/M, Jealousy, Possessive Behavior, Toxic Relationship, Vaginal Fingering, but lite, very submissive reader, violence and blood mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:34:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29461353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whumperooni/pseuds/whumperooni
Summary: You’re socomplacentunder Lucifer’s thumb- socontent. It makes himsickhow easily you bend to his will, how you change your life at his whims and submit to his demands without any hesitation or words of protest.Lucifer doesn’tdeserveyou. He doesn’t deserve someone so sweet and so obedient, so verygood.He doesn’t deserve you and it makes Satansick.
Relationships: Lucifer (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 113





	sick

**Author's Note:**

> haha brain worms go brrrrrrr

It makes him sick.

“You picked the red coat? No, no- darling, go put on the black one I bought you. You look so beautiful in it.”

It makes him sick.

“The Fall? Absolutely not- you’re going with me to Lord Diavolo’s tonight. He wants to see you, kitten, and we’re not going to disappoint him.”

It makes him sick.

“Now, now- that’s enough. You had a big lunch today; you don’t need to gorge yourself anymore.”

It makes him _sick_.

Teeth gritting, Satan watches as Lucifer fixes a diamond collar upon your neck. Fists clenching, Satan watches as Lucifer runs his gaze over your small form and reaches to adjust the hem of your dress.

“Perfect,” Lucifer murmurs. “You look perfect.”

You blink up at him, docile and sweet, and Satan has to look away from the way you smile at his big brother, has to look away from the way Lucifer places his hand to the back of your neck and nudges you to walk out of the room.

You’re so _complacent_ under Lucifer’s thumb- so _content_. It makes him _sick_ how easily you bend to his will, how you change your life at his whims and submit to his demands without any hesitation or words of protest.

Lucifer doesn’t _deserve_ you. He doesn’t deserve someone so sweet and so obedient, so very _good_.

He doesn’t deserve you and it makes Satan _sick_.

A scowl crosses his face and he crosses his arms over his chest, tries to ignore the ugly throb of envy that pulses in his chest.

“Satan? What’re you doin’ out here? I thought you were goin’ to Solomon’s tonight.”

The question distracts him just for a moment and Satan takes a breath, closes his eyes and nods.

Solomon’s, yes. He’s supposed to go to Solomon’s- he _should_ go to Solomon’s.

It would be better to do that than stay at home and stew.

He leaves the room before Mammon can pull him into a senseless conversation and he heads to Solomon’s- brow furrowed and a stormy rage brewing through his mind.

✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣

Two in the morning is when Satan arrives home.

Two in the morning and he’s drunk, fumbling with his keys and shoving off his coat with more force than what’s necessary.

He shouldn’t have let Solomon talk him into drinking. He shouldn’t have accepted the wine that had been pushed his way nor the whiskey that Solomon had plied on him either.

But, he had.

He had and now he’s drunk, risking a hangover in the morning and a long day ahead of him.

Stupid. He was _stupid_.

A huff escapes him and Satan makes his way to the kitchen, grumbles to himself when he nearly trips over a rug.

It’s quiet in the kitchen- blissfully quiet, blissfully without any brothers scrounging around for a late night snack. Satan goes straight for the fridge and he gets himself a bottle of water, cracks it open and downs half of it in one go.

His head throbs whenever he finally stops drinking and Satan presses the bottle to his forehead, sighs as his eyes fall shut.

He’s so tired and the world is so fuzzy- he hates feeling like this.

He hates feeling likes this, but he hates more so whenever there’s a small sound behind him and he turns around to find _you_.

You wearing a silk nightgown and one of Lucifer’s shirts over it. You with a sleepy face and marks on your neck that your _collar_ can’t quite hide. You who looks at him and then looks away, bites your lip and lowers your head meekly as his eyes narrow.

Of course- why _shouldn’t_ he run into _you_ tonight? Why shouldn’t he be tormented with the sight of you looking so lovely all wrapped up in scarlet silk, looking so thoroughly _owned_ with his brother’s claims marking your soft body and the diamond studded leather wrapped around your throat?

Satan huffs and your eyes flit to them, flit away in a hurry.

You’re not supposed to look at him. Him, or any of his brothers. Any demon or human or angel, actually- only Lucifer, only Diavolo.

It makes him _sick_.

You don’t speak- you never speak unless spoken to- and that stokes the rage that had simmered down, brings it up to a dull roar that has his eyes narrowing, his lips dipping into a scowl.

So obedient, so submissive- there’s not a _hint_ of a backbone in you and it makes him _burn_ with anger, _sear_ with frustration and _fury_.

God, he loathes- loves- how _weak_ you are.

He watches as you squirm under his gaze and he watches as your mouth opens and shuts, as some quiet distress has your fingers curling into your nightgown. It only further serves to his eyes narrow even more and his teeth grit as your own dig deeper into your bottom lip, as it trembles.

Pathetic. You’re so very _pathetic_.

“Speak,” he finally snaps out, unable to stand the silence any longer.

The word is irritated, but your shoulders relax at it and Satan scoffs at the relieved sigh that sounds from you, the way your lashes flutter but your gaze stays on the floor.

“I- I wanted to get some water...I’m sorry...”

Meek, soft- your voice is so small and so apologetic and there’s no reason it _should_ be. There’s no reason it should be so timid and there’s no reason he should _enjoy_ it so much.

It’s disgusting. _He’s_ disgusting.

“Then get some water,” he huffs, leaning against the counter. “No one’s stopping you.”

A tiny noise and your fingers twitch at your side, your cheeks heat as you take a few apprehensive steps forward. If he were just a bit more drunk, Satan might roll his eyes at the display but he stays silent instead, frowns as you make your way to the fridge.

You’re too close to him as you grab the water from the fridge- he can smell your perfume and he can smell Lucifer’s cologne, smell the faint scent of _sex_ lingering on you.

_Vile_. It’s so _vile_.

You take the water and you close the door, but you don’t leave as he expects- you hesitate where you stand and you flutter nervous fingers around the bottle, bite your lip once more as Satan watches you.

“What?” he asks, exasperated by you and your meek little display and the way his eyes can’t help but to linger on your curves.

He hates his brother but, gods, does Lucifer know how to dress you.

“I,” you start- anxious, quieter than before, “I...I...can I have a snack? Please?”

You’re asking _him_ if you can have a snack? You’re seeking permission from _him_ for something so _basic_?

Satan blinks and he wets his lips as his cock stirs, as you squirm and fret before him.

“...you may.”

His approval brings a tiny smile on your face- something that could nearly be called _excited_. He hates it and he hates the way it makes his heart pound, hates the shy joy that crosses over your sweet features, hates how it makes his eyes grow hooded and a heady sense of _satisfaction_ thread through him.

He hates the way it makes him want to break from his control, pull you to him and make you _look_ at him, make you submit more to _him_.

Stupid, weak human- how dare you shake him the way you do. How dare you wreck his self-control when you won’t even be _his_.

“Thank you!”

Sweet, happy- your sincere words has his fingers digging into his arms, his frustration spiraling all the more.

_Lucifer doesn’t deserve you_.

You go to the cabinets and you have to stand on your tiptoes as you root around them. You’re just so _small_ compared to him, to his brothers and it’s so very _horrid_ how it has his cock hardening even more as his mind flashes with images of you beneath him, you sitting in his lap.

You’d fit against him so well.

A please noise sounds as you find your snack of choice, but it’s drowned out by a click of a tongue, a disappointed sigh.

“Darling, you know you’re not allowed a snack so late at night.”

Satan’s heart stops and you go perfectly still- back rigid and the snack falling from your trembling hands, a quiet whimper leaving you as Lucifer steps into the room.

“S-Sir...Sir I...”

You can’t even finish your apology, can’t form any excuses. If you were anyone else, Satan may pity you. Instead, his rage is fueled even more so and he’s left near snarling as his older brother bypasses him without so much as a glance spared his way to go to _you_.

“Who gave you permission to have a snack?” Lucifer asks, murmuring the question as he forces you to turn to face him. Like this, Satan can see your wide eyes and the tears in them, your wobbling lower lip and the _shame_ all over your pretty face.

“It certainly wasn’t _me_ ,” Lucifer continues on, hand finding your cheek. “Did my kitten think she could break her rules?”

A tiny whimper, your eyes darting toward Satan, and your head hangs, your small shoulders shake.

And then all of a sudden, Lucifer’s eyes are on _him_ \- narrowed, his head cocking, displeasure showing in the way his lips press together.

The aggravation from him has Satan’s scowl shifting into something that’s almost a smirk and he only lifts his head higher as Lucifer looks him over, stares him back down as something vindictive surges through him.

Oh, he wants to rub his brother’s face in it. Oh, he wants to gloat over this small, _insignificant_ victory and have his brother’s smooth facade breaking.

“...ah,” Lucifer says, attention turning back to you. “I see. You thought _his_ permission would make it alright?”

Wide eyes widen even more and Satan huffs as you sniffle, as you bob your head in a tiny nod and admit to your mistake.

Disgusting. _Weak_. God, can you stand up to him even a little?

(No, no, of course not. Because then you wouldn’t be _his_ and then Satan wouldn’t be _aching_ to have you in his clutches.)

“I- I’m sorry...”

A tut from Lucifer and his hand tightens its hold on your face, brings a noise of distress from you and tears that wet your lashes.

“Darling,” Lucifer hums- softly, dangerously, “you’re so very foolish, aren’t you? Don’t you remember who you belong to?”

A gasp and you’re shuddering, Satan is gnashing his teeth as fingers dip below your collar and tug. Lucifer’s gaze moves to him and it’s so _amused_ , so thoroughly _entertained_.

He could kill him, Satan thinks. He could _kill_ him.

“Perhaps my kitten needs to be reminded of who owns her,” Lucifer muses. “Perhaps _everyone_ needs to be reminded of it.”

Oh, he is _not_ -

“Y-Yes, sir...”

You’re pulled in front of Lucifer before Satan can so much as blink and his shirt is ripped off of you, your nightgown is tugged above your hips. You’re _bare_ underneath it- no underwear to be seen- and Satan’s fury gets waylaid by shock, by want and _greed_ as your thighs are nudged apart and your hips are made to arch back against his older brother.

“ _Lucifer_ -”

“She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?” Lucifer interrupts- voice so casual as his hand dips low to run a finger through your slit. “Gorgeous, obedient, and so very eager to please. _My_ good little girl.”

_Lucifer’s good little girl_.

The words have you gasping softly, the touch has your cheeks heating up. You _are_ gorgeous and you _are_ obedient and you _are_ so very eager- your hips grind against Lucifer’s fingers as he dips them inside you and Satan hates seeing it, hates that his cock is harder than before, hates that his hands twitch with the need to reach out and touch you, feel your silken wetness for himself.

“Ah, _sir_...”

The soft mewl comes out sweetly, so darling and dear. It makes Satan’s eyes narrow and his teeth clench, but the smirk the graces his brother’s face has him _growling_ in envy, his hands tightening into fists.

_Bastard_.

“She’s exquisite,” Lucifer murmurs. “Always so wet, so easy to rile up. It feels like _heaven_ sliding into her. And she so does enjoy being filled- don’t you, darling?”

“I- oh- oh, yes! _Please_!”

Needy- your quiet cry is so _needy_.

You’re so needy and Satan is so _hard_. Hard, avaricious, _furious_ at the situation unfolding before him.

How _dare_ Lucifer pull this? How _dare_ he dangle you like a treat never to be savored before him?

Magic crackles along Satan and he snarls, pushes himself from the counter and glares all his rage toward his older brother and the moaning beauty before him.

“ _Stop_. _It_.”

Lucifer’s smirk grows and his fingers plunge deeper into you, you cry out louder than Satan has ever heard before as you thighs shake and your body tilts forward with a moan.

“What?” Lucifer asks, _taunts_. “Are you bothered by this? You don’t want to see her losing herself to pleasure?”

He does- god, he does. But he wants to see you losing yourself to pleasure brought on by _him_. He wants to break you apart and have all your mewling, whimpering pleas _all to_ _himself_.

“Perhaps you want to indulge in her?” Lucifer muses, thumb moving to grind along your clit. “Perhaps you want to fuck her yourself?”

“ _Lucifer_ -”

“Kitten, do you want that? Do you want anyone but me?”

A whimper, a shake of your head- you sniffle and you shake at the question, have to be held up by Lucifer to keep from collapsing onto the kitchen floor.

And Satan- Satan’s heart cracks and his rage explodes along with the cups drying on the counter, the plates stacked in the sink.

How _dare_ Lucifer? How dare _you_?

The noise of breaking dishes has you startling and the step that Satan takes toward you has you stuttering out panic, but he can’t see it- can’t acknowledge it- as his tail slams against the cabinets and makes their contents tumble onto the floor in rushing, loud heaps.

“L-Lucifer!”

“Shh, darling,” Lucifer soothes- unruffled by the threat Satan carries, uncaring at the volcanic fury threatening to be unleashed. “He knows his place. He knows _your_ place.”

“My _place_? My _place_?!”

The words fly from Satan’s mouth before he can think to contain them and his snarl has the kitchen _rumbling_ , has tears dripping down your cheeks and your hips squirming against Lucifer’s hand.

Lucifer only hums and he retracts his fingers from you, licks your juices from them with a sneer.

“Absolutely _decadent_.”

Satan moves so fast that the kitchen becomes a blur and his hands seek Lucifer’s neck, his claws reach to dig into that arrogant neck and slice it to bloody pieces.

He’s thrown across the room before he can so much as bring a drop and the impact has the fridge denting, food scattering along the floor, and a terrified cry ripping from you.

“Sir!”

Sir? _Sir_? Even after Lucifer throwing him across the room all you can think about is that _bastard_?

_Disgusting_. You _stupid_ little wretch.

“Sir! Lucifer! Please- _please_ don’t-”

A scoff sounds and ebony wings appear, wrap around your trembling form and pull you closer, hide your glittering tears from view.

“Look, now you’ve upset her,” Lucifer huffs. “My poor little darling.”

“Fuck you!”

A whimper, a tut, a snarl. You’re lifted up and you tuck your face into Lucifer’s neck, cling to him like the pathetic, weak, _disgusting_ thing you are. Satan heaves himself out of the wreckage and you _flinch_ as he growls, sniffle and whine as Lucifer’s arms tighten around you.

“Come, kitten, you shouldn’t have to see something so ugly.”

And just like that, you’re whisked away and Satan is left to sweep the counter free from its contents, snarl and rip chunks of marble out of it and hurl them against the wall.

They explode into dust and he heaves, rakes his claws through his hair and shakes with so much rage it has the whole house _quaking_.

The sounding of running footsteps are drowned by the pounding in his ears and Satan growls as he grips onto the sink, nearly falls to his knees as his fury pulses so thick and bitter it has him choking.

_Vile_. _Disgusting_. _Sick_.

It’s all so _sick_.

Satan drops into a crouch and he presses his hand to his mouth, tears at his flesh as he shakes and _breaks_ under the weight of his horrid rage and greed and _heartbreak_.

Repulsive. Weak.

He’s so _pathetic_ \- just as pathetic as _you_ are.

Satan squeezes his eyes shut and he grits his teeth as his brothers spill into his room, slams his fist against the floor as a sweet, teary cry sounds from high above.

“Satan?! Satan what happened?”

“ _Nothing_.”

“Satan-”

He stands and he wipes the blood from his cheeks, storms past his brothers and to his room, hurls a vase at Lucifer’s door when he passes it and he hears you whimper out a loud “ _please_!”

He doesn’t stop until he gets into his room and he slams the door behind him, collapses onto the floor and buries his fingers into his hair, snarls because his cock his still hard and he can’t get the image of your heated cheeks and stuffed, sweet crux out of his mind despite the rage and the violence and your fear.

It makes him _sick_.

He makes himself _sick_.

Satan curls into himself and his tail wraps around his body tight, his heart thuds faster and faster as his frustration spirals with the threat of him lashing out once more.

He’s so sick. This whole house is sick.

The thought that he will never have you makes him _sick_.

It doesn’t stop him from stroking his cock to the sound of you being ravished, though, and it doesn’t stop him from gasping and growling and coming to the thought of snatching you away from his big brother, fucking you senseless in front of that bastard and putting you in a collar of his own.

Someday.

_Someday_.

Someday he’ll make his brother feel as sick as he does.

And Lucifer, you, _everyone_ will rue the day.


End file.
